og in my throat. I swore solemnly to myself that I would not. _Some
folks_ should see that my bashfulness was wearing off faster than the
gold from an oroide watch. Oh, I would show 'em! Some things could be
done as well as others. I would no longer be the laughing-stock of
Babbletown. My past record should be wiped out! I would write my poem,
and I would _read it_--read it calmly and impressively, so as to do
full justice to it.

I got the poem ready. I committed it to memory, so that if the lights
were dim, or I lost my place, I should not be at the mercy of the
manuscript. The night came. I entered the hall with Belle on my arm,
early, so as to secure her a front seat.

"Keep cool, John," were her whispered words, as I left her to take my
place on the platform.

"Oh, I shall be cool enough. I know every line by heart; have said it
to myself one hundred and nineteen times without missing a word."

I'm not going to bore you with the poem here; but will give the first
four lines as they were _written_ and as I _spoke_ them:

"Hail! Babbletown, fair village of the plain!
Hail! friends and fellow-citizens. In vain
I strive to sing the glories of this place,
Whose history back to early times I trace."

The room was crowded, the president of the society made a few opening
remarks, which closed by presenting Mr. Flutter, the poet of the
occasion. I was quite easy and at home until I arose and bowed as he
spoke my name. Then something happened to my senses, I don't know
what; I only knew I lost every one of them for about two minutes. I
was blind, deaf, dumb, tasteless, senseless, and feelingless. Then I
came to a little, rallied, and perceived that some of the boy were
beginning to pound the floor with their heels. I made a feint of
holding my roll of verses nearer the lamp at my right hand, summoned
traitor memory to return, and began:

"Hail!"

Was that my voice? I did not recognize it. It was more as if a mouse
in the gallery had squeaked. It would never do. I cleared any
throat--which was to have been free from frogs--and a strange, hoarse
voice, no more like mine than a crow is like a nightingale, came out
with a jerk, about six feet away, and remarked, as if surprised:

"Hail!"

With a desperate effort, I resolved that this night or never I was to
achieve greatness. I cleared the way again and recommenced:

"Hail!"

A boy's voice at the back of the room was heard to insinuate that
perha